


No Other Way

by Elialys



Series: Trickling Down the Hourglass [7]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Idiots in Love, Lazy Mornings, Making Love, Morning Sex, Sleepy Cuddles, although really there's not much plot except them being horny idiots in love, but they're soft horny idiots, once again reluctant to tag it 'pwp'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22975105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elialys/pseuds/Elialys
Summary: "There is something to be said about being stirred from deep sleep bypleasure. Many complicated things to be said indeed, in a long, winded stream of words he’s pretty sure he should be able to manage, too, at some point. Maybe.Right now, he’s got nothing.He’s merely flesh and bones and sizzling nerves, drawn from Morpheus’ arms straight into Rose’s."Another missing scene from 'Calluses'. Rose wakes up before the Doctor and has a hard time letting him sleep.
Relationships: Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Series: Trickling Down the Hourglass [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1385539
Comments: 34
Kudos: 105





	No Other Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Melusine0811](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melusine0811/gifts).



> I wrote this story for one of the loveliest women I've ever had the chance to meet, and whose birthday is coming up in a few days. It takes place between Chapter 8 and 9 of Calluses. You know the ones (aka the Doctor having sex A LOT?)
> 
> Lauren, you are a true blessing in my life, especially right now. I don't know how I would handle any of this without you ♥ I also know how much you loved 'Calluses'. The title is an obvious reference to one of our favourite songs from Paolo Nutini :p

Rose awakes to an odd…tickling sensation, somewhere near her armpit, causing the first _conscious_ exhale she lets out to resemble a breathless chuckle as the next flurry of ‘tickling’ starts off from that one sensitive area.

It tickles…then it stops, for a good six seconds at least, seconds during which silence makes place to the sound of deep inhaling.

The mystery solves itself in her sluggish mind just as she opens her eyes – something that turns out to be rather pointless, given the lack of light in the room. Her eyes are quick to readjust to the low luminosity; she’s not seeing much _,_ but it’s enough, soon confirming what her other senses have deduced.

She’s spread out on her back in the middle of the bed…with the Doctor snuggly pressed to her side, his face nothing short of squished into her armpit, one of his arms loose over her hips. He’s still managed to lock their lower limbs together, but given his current position and the endless length of his body, his thighs are entangled with her calves, and she’s quite aware of the heat of him against her knee.

Rose doesn’t move at all, letting herself be in the moment, her own nose buried in his hair, unable not to smile. Part of it is caused by the repeated tingles every time he breathes out, but for the most part, she’s just high on happy chemicals, her body deliciously relaxed – if not for some unavoidable soreness.

In any other circumstances, she would never have allowed her lover to sleep with their face in her armpit – not even him, because that’s gross even to their standards. But the last thing they’d done before finally passing out had been to shower, having both agreed that they couldn’t possibly go to sleep with this amount of sweat and…else sticking to their skins.

She doesn’t recall much of the shower itself, a bit too groggy by then, her brain positively saturated with previously-mentioned happy hormones as a result from the few (three? four??) orgasms he’d successfully given her – which truly was all kind of impressive for a first run, especially considering how things had started.

She remembers him, though.

His tight hold on her, his gentle hands as he helped her wash, and she did the same for him, occasionally looking all the way up to meet his gaze, finding his eyes as soft and lazy as his touch, and just as sleepy as she felt.

While he’s obviously moved in the last few hours, she can tell his sleep is deep, now, his breathing slow and steady, his limbs heavy against hers, properly and understandably exhausted. He hasn’t slept much at all since his metacrisis – beside that time spent in a _coma_ , and they’d put quite the strain on his new body. Rose wants nothing more than to let him get the rest he needs, maybe even go back to sleep herself, as all she’d have to do is move a little for his soft tickling to stop…

…but his new body doesn’t seem to care much about the fact that he’s unconscious, and she’s finding the feel of him against her leg harder and harder to ignore (no pun intended). Sure, he’s got human in him, now; she’s had partners before, aware that it’s not that unusual for men to get that kind of reaction while asleep, and that it rarely has anything to do with sex.

She knows she’s partly responsible for this, though; she’s started trailing a hand across his back, creating shivers under his skin wherever she grazes her nails…over and over, the pressure against her leg definitely increasing.

She loves that she gets to do this – touch him. She loves that even in his sleep, he’s reacting to her.

That he wants her.

She stops her soft teasing after a while. From everything she’s seen so far, he would probably be a bit embarrassed by how little control he has over this body, even if it’s something she finds enticing more than anything else.

The thought of him blushing the way he has so many times in the last twenty-four hours briefly takes over her simmering lust, her insides squeezing in deep affection instead, and she brings her hand to his head, sinking her fingers in his hair, in which her nose is still buried, unable not to tighten her hold on him.

Asleep or not, the Doctor responds to this change.

When her fingers enclose a fistful of his hair and she pins herself a bit more snuggly to him, his breathing changes for the first time in long minutes, briefly halting as the strongest wave of shivers yet travels down his body. His head has moved, too, so that the next time he exhales, his warm breath tickles the even more sensitive skin of her breast.

Just like that, lust overtakes everything else.

Rose moves, slowly but with intent, focusing on shifting that one leg he’s pinned himself against, giving his hair another soft tug as she does so. His entire body tenses briefly at this added friction, his breathing halting once more.

When the air rushes out of him, it comes as a low moan that reverberates through her, adding heat to that growing fire deep within her; remaining rational becomes difficult, especially when she repeats the movement, and elicits the same response.

He’s moving, now, his arm not so loose anymore as he sluggishly wraps it around her. She can’t find it in herself to feel guilty about waking him up, because even in his half-asleep state, he’s trying to get closer to her, tremoring at the smallest of touch, and her need to _touch_ him and please him becomes all-consuming.

She keeps her movements a bit slow and gentle, but she’s a lot more assertive, unentangling their limbs so she can move and use both her hands instead of one, running her palms over his warm skin, now covered in goose-flesh. He’s lean, and slim, the way she’s always known him to be in this incarnation, but he’s strong, too, feeling muscles more than she feels bones.

He tastes of that cheap hotel soap they used earlier, although the more open-mouth kisses she presses all over his neck and chest as she descends on him, the more salty it becomes; in her need to draw _him_ out through that artificial layer, the way she sucks his skin between her lips is strong enough to leave a mark – or two.

To be fair, the Doctor is not _entirely_ sure what’s going on.

There is something to be said about being stirred from deep sleep by _pleasure_. Many complicated things to be said indeed, in a long, winded stream of words he’s pretty sure he should be able to manage, too, at some point. Maybe.

Right now, he’s got nothing.

He’s merely flesh and bones and sizzling nerves, drawn from Morpheus’ arms straight into Rose’s.

Well.

It’s not so much her arms as it is her lips and her tongue and quite a few of her fingers, from what his stuttering brain can decipher from the avalanche of sensations and stimuli crashing into it.

He’s tried opening his eyes, enough to know the room they’re in is dark, if not for a bluish tinge his mind manages to associate with a looming sunrise…but the thought quickly scatters away, his eyes already closing again, Rose’s fingers now wrapped around that aching part of him. The only thing that seems to be functioning properly are his vocal chords, regularly hearing himself make sounds that are almost doing a decent job at voicing what is rushing through his veins.

He can’t…wake up properly.

Every time he tries, tries to focus, to get a proper understanding of who he is and where he is and more importantly of where _Rose_ is, physically, in relation to him, she does something else and his entire body shivers and quakes as heat washes through him.

He briefly, _very_ briefly entangles his fingers in her hair when he recognises its soft texture, but he quickly lets go to hold onto what feels like linen instead, not trusting himself enough; even in his groggy state, he’s afraid he might hurt her, squeeze her too tight in his wild responses.

 _Just say ‘stop’ if it becomes too much, yeah?_ she’s told him at some point tonight, he’s quite sure of it.

He doesn’t stop her, because really, there _is_ something to be said about being stirred from deep sleep by pleasure.

He’s absolutely baffled but quite happy to let himself be this shaky blob of electrified nerves at the moment, because all these stimuli truly are…pleasant. What’s even more pleasant and baffling is the fact that _Rose_ is solely responsible for it all.

He’s pretty okay with it all, until the feel of her hand around his throbbing shaft is replaced by the kind of wet heat that was on his skin only moments ago, at which point his brain nearly shuts down altogether.

Now these sensations are definitely new and… _bloody hell_.

His pleasure spikes, intense and overwhelming; he wants to reach for her, _needs_ to hold on to her, to feel her against him the way he has every time he’s been _this close_ tonight…but he’s convinced that if he lets go of the linen even for one _second_ , he’s going to lose himself, and not in a _good_ kind of way.

“ _Stop_.”

The word tumbles out of his mouth in a breath, managing to pierce through the loud thumps of his racing heart against his eardrums, and he sounds panicked even to his own ears.

She stops, and for the first time since he started waking up, the world becomes almost completely still.

The Doctor remains a mess of exposed nerves, his body shaking as his heart pounds, his skin already covered in a thin sheen of sweat. But these are sensations he can…handle, and take in, _consciously_ take in.

This respite allows him to fully reconnect with his surrounding and with himself, as he finally wakes up for good.

Just as he begins to worry about Rose’s silence and stillness, she slithers back up the length of him, lightly pinning herself against his side. As she presses her chin to his shoulder and looks at him in that bluish light, now brighter, she bites down on her lower lip – not in a sexy way.

More in a _‘I messed up’_ kind of way.

“’m sorry…” she whispers, sounding as guilty as that look in her eyes.

This won’t do at all.

He reaches for her, cupping her cheek in his hand, finding her skin flushed. He shakes his head, wanting to explain what’s happened, but when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out, his vocal chords (so efficient only a minute ago) suddenly unusable.

Unable to speak – a problem he always experiences at the worst of time with this particular woman – he moves instead, shifting to wrap his other arm around her, and pulling, encouraging her to move on top of him. He senses her initial hesitation and tension, as if she’s not sure about properly resting on him, but his holds on her are strong; she relaxes, eventually, until he’s successfully covered up in a Rose-shaped blanket.

He’s still aroused, but she’s mindful not to move more than necessary. With her forehead against his, one of his hands deep in her slightly-damp hair, he relaxes, too, finally able to breathe her in deeply, soothed by her scent, and by her warm body, all over his.

“I just…missed you,” he eventually speaks again, his hoarse voice barely above a whisper.

There are many ways to interpret this clumsy statement, and he’s not exactly satisfied with it, because it does very little to convey… _this_ , how much he needs this, the feel of her in his arms.

Pleasure is nice, it’s very nice indeed, but he needs her more than he could ever want… _it_.

Still, now that his odd, fleeting panic has passed and that he’s safe in her arms, fully awake and cognitive – as much as one can be cognitive when being pinned down by a naked Rose Tyler – it’s becoming… _harder_ to ignore the state he’s in.

Rose can tell.

She’s never had a lover like him. Someone who’s more interested in holding her close than…getting off, really.

She still feels a tad embarrassed about causing him any kind of uneasiness in her eagerness to please him, but she’s seen and heard enough in the last few hours to know ‘this’ is going to be a learning curve, and that, like everything else in their budding relationship, communication is going to be key.

“Can I touch you?” she asks him softly.

His answering nod comes so quickly that she cannot help but smile a little.

She brings her smiling lips to his, initiating a slow kiss that soon deepens. As it does, she shifts her hips and slips a hand between them, encircling his length again, before beginning a steady rhythm.

Worked up as he was, it doesn’t take long for her to bring him right back to where he was, determined on seeing this through, fully focused on him, even as the intensity of their kiss ignites her insides, each of the low sounds he makes going straight to her core.

She doesn’t even try pursuing her own release, until one of his hands leaves her hair. His arm comes down to circle her hips, _pressing_ down, causing him to slide through her folds, rubbing against that sensitive nub. He reacts to the sensation as much as she does, firmly holding on to her hip, encouraging her to repeat the movement – which she does, swiftly and with a moan of her own; she’s slick and more than ready, but none of them even tries to join their bodies, too engrossed in the pleasure their current position is inducing as she rocks upon him.

He comes first and _fast_ , in a shuddering wave of heat and sound, allowing himself to cling onto her as he does. She barely stops her motions, using the hand already between them instead, her mind obviously set on bringing herself to climax even as he shakes with aftershocks beneath her. All he can do is keep her close, his fingers entangled in her hair, nothing short of addicted to the feel of her…to her hot, scorching breath upon his lips…to the way his name rushes out of her mouth in a moan as she shakes in pleasure.

He simply cannot get enough of her.

He just loves the weight of her upon him, in the aftermath; how she doesn’t seem to care at all about the fact that they’re, once again, rather sticky and regrettably damp.

The sun is rising outside, and he finds it hard to believe that only twenty-four hours ago, he was sitting in the hallway on the other side of that door, crying his brand new eyes out, when his arms are currently full of warm, sweaty human.

“I – ” he begins to say, but as if on cue, he’s interrupted by his own body, his stomach choosing this exact moment to let out a rather loud growl.

“Borborygmus,” she mumbles sleepily into the skin of his neck, hearing the smile in her voice.

He lets out a long, exasperated sigh. “I can’t believe I’m hungry again,” he says, a bit dejected by how…inefficient this body is at conserving its fuel.

“Had a busy night,” Rose points out – which is a good point. “And an even busier day ahead, from the looks of it.”

He smiles groggily, moving his head to brush his lips across her forehead. “Do I, now?”

Rose doesn’t answer.

Not with words, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this put some love in your heart the way it did for me. I really could use any form of kindness from you today, lovely readers.


End file.
